


Seeking Shelter

by randi2204



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 18:11:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buck, Chris and Ezra are caught in a snowstorm on their way back to town, and have to find a place to spend the night, while somehow not freezing to death. (Oh, wait, that's the easy part.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeking Shelter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mendax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mendax/gifts).



> Notes: [Mendax](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mendax) noticed while watching Witness that there were times that you could see the fog of the characters' breaths, and it made her want a cuddling for warmth fic. Apparently, all she has to do is mention her very whim and my muse sits up and takes notice.
> 
> Disclaimer: They all belong to MGM, Mirisch and Trilogy. Not mine, no money.

Chris hunched his shoulders as another blast of wind drove tiny pellets of ice into his cheek.  He tilted his head slightly, hoping that the brim of his hat would shield him from the stinging wind, but then it changed direction again, coming at him from the front, and his breath formed a cloud in the air as he huffed, aggravated.

 

 _Doesn’t do any good to get mad at the weather,_ he told himself again, but just as with each previous time, it didn’t actually stop the surge of anger that filled him.  _But… goddamnit!  Fuckin’ storm couldn’t have held off one more day, waited ‘till we were a little closer to home?_

 

Clearly not.

 

The wind howled louder, and his jacket didn’t do a damned thing to stop it.  Caught in the bitter cold of the air and snow and ice, he knew the only reason he hadn’t frozen himself was the warmth of his horse, Fury working hard beneath him to forge a trail through the snow.

 

He felt muffled, like he was wrapped in cotton; he couldn’t hear the others at all over the wind.  Muscles stiff with cold and trying to conserve warmth, he twisted a little in the saddle, looking behind him.

 

The only reason he could see Buck at all was the dark green neckerchief he’d drawn up to cover his nose and mouth, trying to keep the air he breathed in a little warm; that, and one sleeve of his brown coat hadn’t yet been blanketed by wind-blown snow.  But his grey horse faded into invisibility against the white-covered earth, and it made Buck, riding with his head tucked down, appear to be floating as they plodded along.

 

Chris couldn’t see Ezra – not a hint of his red coat or black hat, and it made his stomach lurch to think that maybe Ezra had gotten separated from them, that he was wandering in some other direction, lost in the storm.  He stretched further, one gloved hand resting on the cantle, trying to see beyond Buck, hoping for a glimpse of him, just to know he was still there…

 

Nothing.  Just the wind and snow and Buck lifting his head from his chest at his movement.

 

Icy air seared his lungs as he took a deeper breath, but he managed to shout “Ezra?” to Buck, gesturing with his chin over Buck’s shoulder.

 

Whether Buck actually heard him over the wind or not, he realized what Chris had to be asking, and craned his neck to look behind himself.  He faced Chris again, gave an exaggerated nod that Chris could just barely see through the storm, and Chris let himself relax a little.

 

He settled into the saddle again, slouching to conserve heat.  Snow, caught in his collar and melted by his body heat, trickled icy down his back.  _Gotta get out of this_ , he thought.  _There’s gotta be some place around here we can hole up for a while…_ He squinted into the wind, but he couldn’t make anything out more than a few feet away on any side.

 

 _Before the storm came on, we weren’t quite halfway through the pass,_ he recalled, flexing cold fingers inside his gloves.  _Seem to remember that there’s a cabin about there.  Saw it on the way up, so it shouldn’t be too far away now…_

 

Chris pulled Fury up, waited for Buck to come up beside him.  “Why we stoppin’, Chris?” Even though they were right next to each other, Buck still had to holler over the roar of the wind.

 

Instead of answering, Chris shook his head, glanced behind him again as his horse shifted beneath him.  It took too long for Ezra to appear out of the storm.  His red coat was covered with blown snow on one side, shoulders hunched tight against the wind, hat pulled as low as it could go.  His reins were slack against his horse’s neck and he was holding onto the saddle horn.  He glanced up as his horse stopped moving, and Chris could see his face was pinched and white from cold.

 

“There’s a cabin ‘round here,” Chris shouted.  “We gotta find it, get out of the storm.”

 

“You ‘member where?” Buck yelled back, crowding his horse closer.

 

“Close up against the mountain, halfway through the pass,” Chris replied.  “Looked like it might be in the lee of the wind.”

 

“Lead on, Mister Larabee.”  Ezra sounded weary, and he couldn’t quite keep his teeth from chattering.  He didn’t say anything else, and even with everything else, that made Chris worried.

 

Before urging Fury forward again, he caught Buck’s eye and tilted his head toward Ezra.  Again, Buck nodded and held back, calling to Ezra to get moving.  As they plodded along, Chris imagined he could feel Ezra glaring a hole in the back of his shoulders, but even so, that was preferable to thinking him lost in the storm.

 

The next time he twisted around, Ezra’s horse was less than a length away from Fury’s rump, and he could just barely make out Buck behind Ezra, following him close.  Satisfied, he faced forward again, and kept trying to find the cabin he _knew_ he’d seen on their outward journey.

 

The wind stung his eyes, made them blur dangerously, and the way the snow and ice swirled in white devils in front of him made everything seem too far away and unstable to be real.  Dark shapes rose out of the wind as they approached them, and he thought each one was the cabin for just a moment, only to be disappointed when it turned out to be only a boulder or a tree or nothing but a shadow.

 

The next shape that appeared through the storm didn’t seem any more solid than the last, but when they were close enough, Chris felt his shoulders slump in relief.  They’d found the cabin.

 

He pulled up near the cabin door.  It looked empty.  There was no light through the small windows or under the rough door, no smoke rising from the chimney.

 

Right up next to the cabin, they were out of the wind, though it still howled over the roof.  Chris swung down, stiff with cold, and flexed his fingers a few times in his gloves, just to make sure he could.  He tossed the stirrups up over the seat of the saddle, and led Fury toward the cabin door.  It pushed open easily.

 

“C’mon, Ezra,” and somehow Buck managed to shout and cajole at the same time.  “Better get off yer horse ‘fore you’re permanently attached.” 

 

Frowning in concern, Chris glanced over his shoulder in time to see Ezra stagger off his horse, catching himself with a hasty grab at the stirrup before he could fall down into the snow.  Ezra’s horse, tired as Ezra himself seemed to be, shook itself, but not hard enough to dislodge him.

 

Then he was inside the cabin, Fury’s hooves thudding dully on the hard-packed earth. It was dim inside, lit only by the thin light filtering through the storm, but he could still see it was a simple one room square.  A bedstead was crammed in the far corner, roughly hewn from heavy logs.  A dusty looking straw tick rested on the ropes and slats.  Not far from the bed – the cabin was a small one – sat an equally rugged table and chairs.  A rusted old stove squatted opposite, an overturned ash bucket next to it, contents spilled over the floor.

 

He tugged Fury over to the empty corner by the door, just in time for Buck to lead his horse in.  “Well,” he said, mustache lifting in a wry grin, “this’ll be cozy, won’t it?” He urged his horse fully inside.

 

Chris’s mouth curved into a tiny grin.  “Reckon so.”  He started unburdening Fury of bedroll and saddlebags, just as Ezra and his horse entered.  “Best check around, see if there’s any firewood left.”

 

“Bare as this place is?” Buck snorted, as he relieving his own horse of his things.  “We’ll prob’ly haveta break up the chairs to burn.”

 

 _Probably so,_ Chris thought, but he didn’t say anything aloud.  Instead, he watched Ezra as, still moving woodenly, he started to unsaddle his horse.  His shoulders were still hunched inside his wool coat, and his usually dexterous fingers seemed clumsy as he fumbled with the cinch.

 

He felt the frown settle back on his face.  _Hope there_ is _some wood for a fire,_ he thought, stepping away from the horses and toward the table. Three men and three horses didn’t leave a whole lot of space.  _Still,_ he allowed, laying his saddlebags on the table, _if there ain’t any wood, at least the horses will warm things up a little._

 

The storm gave the impression it was going to last, might even be a whole day or two before it blew itself out.  Whether or not they managed a fire, they’d probably have to huddle close and share the heat of their own bodies just to last through the night.

 

And that, he admitted, sneaking a glance at Ezra over his shoulder, was bound to cause problems.  Ezra wasn’t going to like that one bit.

 

Right now, he was hoping that the man’s contrary nature would bow in the face of necessity… but he wouldn’t bet a day’s wage on it.

 

Before he could figure out what words to say to convince Ezra that his dignity was less important than his life, Buck finished with his horse.  “I’ll see if I can find a woodpile,” he said, pulling his bandana up over his mouth and nose again.  “If not, you might wanna find a hatchet.”  With that, he pulled the door open, letting in a chill blast of wind before stepping out and yanking it shut behind him.

 

Chris pulled off his gloves and flexed his fingers again; they tingled a bit, but the cold didn’t seem to have set in too deeply.  _Just need some warmth,_ he thought, and that made him think of Ezra once more.  When he looked at Ezra this time, he was finger-combing bits of ice and snow from his horse’s mane. 

 

Shaking his head, he strode over and grabbed Ezra by his wrists.  “Let me see.”

 

After a token effort to draw away, Ezra submitted and let Chris inspect his hands.  They were white and chapped red, and even against the chill in his own hands, Chris could feel that Ezra’s were colder.  “Move your fingers,” he ordered, his tone sharp with a sudden fear.  _Definitely gotta get a fire started if he’s gotten frostbit…_ His mind conjured an image of those graceful hands with fingers blistered and blackened from frostbite or, worse, missing…

 

Ezra grimaced, but slowly flexed his fingers, one after the other, both hands, and Chris felt himself sag just a little in relief.  Being able to move them meant they weren’t frozen, or at least not too badly.  “Make a fist,” he said.

 

“Mister Larabee,” Ezra protested, “this is unnecessary…”

 

Chris gave him a hard look. “Do it.”

 

Ezra’s eyes darted about, as if he was searching for an escape, then his shoulders slumped and he folded both hands into fists.  His mouth twisted up as he did, and his hands were curled only loosely, something that wouldn’t have any impact at all in hitting someone.

 

Chris was tempted to hold Ezra’s hands between his own, maybe chafe them a little; it’s what he would have done it if he was even a little warmer himself.  He hesitated for a moment, listening for a sound at the door – _as if you could hear anything over the wind!_ he berated himself – then stepped closer, until his chest was almost brushing against Ezra’s, and tucked Ezra’s hands inside his jacket and under his arms.

 

As expected, Ezra immediately tried to pull away.  “Chris!” he hissed, as Chris tightened his arms, clamping Ezra’s hands tightly against himself and grabbing his arms for good measure.  “What on earth are you doing?”

 

“Warmin’ up your hands,” he replied.  Ezra had brushed off the snow that had clung to him, but the wool of his coat was cold and wet under Chris’s fingers.  “You’re gonna need to take off your coat.”

 

Ezra huffed and again made an attempt to free himself.  “If you would be so kind as to release me,” he said, and Chris could hear the irritation in his voice, “I might indeed be able to do so.”

 

“I didn’t mean _now_ , Ezra,” Chris said, letting a hint of disapproval color his tone.  “I meant after we get a fire goin’.”  Carefully, he released one of Ezra’s arms, brushed his hand over Ezra’s cool cheek.  “Wouldn’t want you catchin’ a chill, after all.”

 

After a brief hesitation – a fight inside himself that Chris could feel in the tension of his body – Ezra leaned into the light touch, his body relaxing.  Chris felt the change; he no longer had to press his arms so firmly to his sides to keep Ezra from getting away.  He let his hand drift to the back of Ezra’s neck, softly stroking that band of bare skin between his hair and the collar of his coat.  It felt warmer under his fingers.

 

“And will you offer the same treatment to Mister Wilmington when he returns from his mission?” Ezra leaned forward a little, until his head rested against Chris’s shoulder, baring more skin for Chris to touch.  Inside Chris’s jacket, Ezra’s hands flexed, molding themselves to his sides, a caress he could barely feel through his shirt and the top of his Union suit, though he knew all too well how it felt against his skin.  “After all, he has gone out into the cold once more, and I’m positive his hands will be even more frigid than my own…”

 

Chris snorted, curled his hand around the back of Ezra’s neck and felt a tremor, quickly stilled, run through him at the touch.  “Buck’s wearin’ gloves.  He’s not gonna need this kinda _treatment_ … and if he did, I think he could manage it himself.”  He let his fingers trace under Ezra’s collar, listened to the soft catch of his breath, then asked, “Speakin’ of that, where are _your_ gloves?”

 

“The same place as my coat – in my closet.”  Ezra’s voice was even, no evidence of the hitch in his breathing, but Chris felt his head rest more heavily on his shoulder, giving him silent permission to continue.  “The weather was no more than cool when we left.  I was not expectin’ winter to come on so fast.”

 

“Weather changes fast up here,” Chris scolded, softening the words with another brush of his fingers.  “You ought to know that.” 

 

Ezra only hummed in response, his hands slipping from under Chris’s arms to smooth down his sides. They stopped at Chris’s waist, stroking the supple leather of his gun belt.

 

They stood like that for a few moments, then Chris stepped back, taking hold of Ezra’s hands to examine them once more.  They were still chapped, of course, but they were less that stark white of just minutes ago, more a normal fleshy color.  “Make a fist,” he commanded, and nodded when Ezra’s fingers closed more tightly than they had the first time.  “Better.  Keep ‘em warm as you can ‘till we can get a fire goin’.”

 

Ezra licked his lips.  “Does that mean you won’t be my very own hand-warmer any longer?” he asked, and Chris was pretty sure he was aiming for innocent but his tone fell far short of that.  Immediately he started imagining all kinds of ways that he and Ezra could warm each other up, never mind the storm, every damn one of them involving the bed in the corner…

 

The door flew open, banging hard against the wall, and Buck stomped in, a number of branches in his arms.  Ezra jerked away from Chris, then slipped his hands beneath his own arms, bumping into his horse as he stepped back.

 

“Woodpile’s ‘round back,” Buck panted through his bandana, leaning against the door to close it.  “Not a lot and covered with snow.  Prob’ly haveta burn the chairs anyway.”

 

“Yeah,” Chris agreed, slow off the mark after Ezra’s retreat.  He snuck a look at Ezra, but Ezra was staring at his tack as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.  “See if you can get a fire started.  We’ll need to melt some snow for drinking, too… unless you saw a pump.” He started pulling his gloves back on.

 

“If there is a pump, pard, it’s hidden under a drift somewhere.” Buck knelt by the stove, setting pieces of wood in its belly.  “Couple trips will have all the cut wood in here.”

 

Chris nodded, and ducked his head against the blast of the wind when he opened the door.

 

Buck was right that there were only a few armfuls of wood against the back of the cabin. _Looks like whoever built this place lit out before they finished gettin’ the wood for winter,_ Chris thought.  _Hope we got enough to burn ‘till the storm is over._

 

The fire was just starting to take hold when he returned with the last of the wood.  He shook off the snow that had accumulated on his hat, watching as Buck wheedled Ezra out of his coat.

 

“… sicker ‘n hell if ya stay in that. Here,” and Buck tossed Ezra a blanket from one of the bedrolls.  “Take off yer wet things and warm up in that.  Shoulda been wearin’ a heavier coat anyway.”

 

“Yes, Mister Wilmington, I am aware,” Ezra replied, but with none of the biting sarcasm Chris was expecting.  He just sounded… tired.  He stripped off his wet coat, shivering as the cold air went right through the thin, damp shirt underneath, and draped it carefully over the back of a chair in front of the stove to dry before wrapping the blanket around his shoulders.

 

“Sit down by the stove, Ezra,” Chris said, kicking the snow off his boots.  When Ezra gave him his most mulish look, he sighed and sat down on the floor, shoving the chair with Ezra’s jacket to one side with his foot, then looked expectantly over his shoulder.

 

Less than a heartbeat later, Buck settled down near Chris, leaving a space between them.  “Could stand bein’ a little warmer my own self,” he said, mustache lifted by a cheeky grin.  Chris quickly turned away, lips twitching.

 

“You are both appallingly transparent,” Ezra grumbled, but he still sat down on the floor between them. 

 

Buck scooted closer on Ezra’s off side, crowding him a little against Chris.  “Just tryin’ to get a little more warmth, pard,” he said with a disarming smile when Ezra frowned at him.  “Sharin’ the heat of another body… well, that’s a _real_ good way to warm up right quick.”

 

 _Buck’s got a way of making just about everything sound raunchy,_ Chris thought, and this time he had to cover his mouth with one hand to hide his smile.  Then he remembered his earlier urge to make use of the bed with Ezra.  _Guess he’s not so far off the mark after all._

 

“Right now, Mister Wilmington, I believe you’ll find I have very little heat to spare.” 

 

Chris’s smile disappeared behind the shield of his hand as it struck him.  Ezra was taking Buck’s words at face value, something he rarely did.  _Must be damn near exhausted if he ain’t readin’ more into it than that,_ he thought, slewing a glance at Ezra from the corner of his eye.  Ezra slumped beneath his blanket; he’d wrapped it around himself as tight as he could, and he stared at the stove as if that would force it to provide more heat.

 

The stove was another problem, Chris realized.  It wasn’t very big, it didn’t hold a lot of wood, and it didn’t put off much heat.  More than a few feet away and the warmth was barely noticeable against the chill of the air.  _Doesn’t matter how much wood we have,_ he thought, and caught Buck’s eye over Ezra’s drooping head.  _That stove might be good for meltin’ some snow or heatin’ up some dinner, but it ain’t gonna be enough to keep us warm all night._

 

From the serious look on Buck’s face, he was coming to the same conclusion.

 

 _I was right,_ Chris thought, stifling a sigh.  _We’re gonna need to huddle close to stay warm tonight.  Ezra isn’t gonna like that at all._

 

In other circumstances, he knew damn right well that Ezra wouldn’t balk at what was coming.  _Hell,_ he thought, _if Buck weren’t here, he’d be downright eager to get in bed._

 

But Buck _was_ there, and that was going to make Ezra reluctant as all get out.  It wasn’t going to make Chris’s night an easy one, either; he was much too used to waking up spooned behind Ezra, arm draped over him, and the pair of them thinking about making that kind of heat that Buck’s filthy teasing tone had alluded to only minutes ago.

 

They pretended distance during the day, but when it came right down to it, night was _their_ time, and he didn’t want to give it up or share it any more than he thought Ezra did.  _But livin’ and bein’ able to have it again… that’s more important._

 

“… Chris? You with us?”

 

Buck’s words, tinged with concern, drew Chris out of his thoughts.  “Yeah.  Just thinkin’.”

 

“Figure we should heat up a little supper, then hit the hay.”

 

“Mister Wilmington, it’s…” Ezra fumbled with his blanket, opened it enough to pull out his pocket watch, “… only the middle of the afternoon.”

 

“Only gonna get colder as night comes on,” Chris said before Buck could answer.  “We got nothing else to do until the storm blows out.  Might as well sleep and stay warm.”

 

The look Ezra gave him with was filled with betrayal, as if he had expected Chris to find something to do to give the lie to his words, to push off going to bed as long as possible.  Then his lips thinned and he returned his gaze to the stove.

 

Chris studied Ezra, frowning, ignoring Buck’s questioning look.  He let the weight of his stare work, waiting to see if Ezra would relent under it, would quirk that half-smile that said he wasn’t really angry… or at least not _that_ angry.  But all he did was pull the blanket even more closely around himself, huddling down into it as if it was the only way he could get warm.

 

Chris’s annoyance with Ezra – at his disregard of the season, at the way his sense of fashion always seemed to trump his common sense, at his silent, stubborn insistence that he didn’t need any help – roiled up inside him, and he pushed himself to his feet.  _He thinks he don’t need to huddle with us, maybe he should see what it’s like._   “C’mon, Buck,” he gritted, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Buck wince at his tone.  “Still got some things to do before we can turn in.”  He emphasized the last couple words, watched Ezra tense a little under his blanket, then turned on his heel and stalked over to the table.

 

Buck joined him a moment later, and leaned close.  “You sure this is a good idea?” he asked softly, though they both knew Ezra would be able to hear them without a problem.  “Looked like he was startin’ ta warm up there, us on either side…”

 

Ignoring his question, Chris rooted through his gear and grabbed his coffee pot.  “Think we can melt some snow in this.  I’ll do that while you get somethin’ to eat.”

 

Buck’s face creased in a frown.  “Chris, ain’t gonna take long to fill up that pot…”

 

He turned away from Buck rather than reply and yanked open the door. Chill air and snowflakes swirled in past him, and then he was pulling it shut behind him, his ears filled with the roar of the storm, unmuffled by the cabin walls.

 

Careful to keep the cabin at his back, he crouched down to scoop some freshly fallen snow into the coffee pot.  The wind snuck down the collar of his coat again, and he shivered; his anger wasn’t keeping him warm.  It had started to wane about as soon as he’d stepped outside, and by the time the coffee pot was full of snow, it had almost entirely disappeared.  He sighed, a puff of breath that was immediately stolen away by the wind.  _Ezra is Ezra,_ he thought. _Ain’t likely he’s gonna change – much.  Stubborn fool._

 

When he entered the cabin again, it was in a slightly better humor than he’d left, and his mood improved vastly when he saw Ezra craning his neck to watch him, eyes wide and a bit anxious looking.  As soon as Chris caught him, he turned back around to study the stove, a red spot forming on his cheek. __

In the short time he’d been outside, Buck had opened a tin of beans to heat on the stove. Their canteens sat by the stove, too, to catch some of the meager heat it gave off and melt the ice that had formed within.  Chris nudged the pan of beans to one side and set the coffee pot down.  They’d have to melt more snow than just one pot’s worth to fill up the canteens, and they’d have to water the horses at some point…

 

“Hey, pard, help me turn this over,” Buck called from the corner with the bed, and Chris saw he’d picked up one side of the straw tick.  _Probably musty as all hell,_ he thought, but he didn’t relish lying down in whatever had accumulated on the ticking.  They gave it a vigorous shaking and flipped it over on the slats, then laid the blankets and the treated canvas from their bedrolls on top.

 

Their meal was consumed in silence, crowded close to the stove and to each other.  The cabin grew even darker as the sun set.  Colder air started to seep inside, sucking away the heat from the small stove.  Off to the side, the horses shifted, hooves thumping.

 

Once they had finished, Chris shoved some more wood into the stove.  “Yeah, hoss,” Buck said, grinning as he stacked their tin plates on the table, “get that fire goin’ _real_ good, ‘cause that’s what’s gonna keep us from freezin’ our asses off tonight.”

 

Chris rolled his eyes and shut the door on the stove, cutting off the brightness of the flame, then straightened and dusted off his hands.  “Might as well get started warmin’ up that bed, Buck.”  He pretended not to notice the sudden tension that made Ezra stiffen.

 

“Why me?”

 

“’Cause you sleep like the dead,” Chris replied with a tiny wicked grin, “and it’s easier havin’ you sleep next to the wall instead of climbin’ all over you tryin’ to get out of bed.”

 

Buck smoothed his fingers over his mustache.  “I oughta take exception to that,” he said, then his mouth curled up in irrepressible good humor.  “Just not sure I can.”

 

“Trust me, Buck, you can’t.”

 

“Well, then, since I’m gonna be trapped up against the wall, I’m gonna answer Mother Nature’s call right now.”  He opened the door the smallest width possible that would allow him to slip out and dragged it shut behind him.

 

“All right, Ezra, c’mon.” Chris stood over Ezra and reached down.

 

Ezra just stared at him for a moment, licking his lips, and Chris could see him thinking hard, trying to come up with some way out of this.  Then he sighed and opened his blanket to reach back, shivering.  Chris pulled him to his feet, and he quickly tugged the blanket back around himself, then turned away, giving Chris his back. 

 

“Look, I know you don’t like this,” Chris said quietly.  “But we do this, nobody freezes to death and we can all get back to town.”  He darted a quick glance toward the door, then leaned forward, his lips not quite brushing Ezra’s ear.  “Make use of your featherbed instead.”

 

For a moment, Ezra didn’t move.  Then he huffed a laugh and slewed a look over his shoulder, green eyes filled with amusement as they hadn’t been all day.  “I will say this, Mister Larabee – you do know how to… entice a man.”

 

Chris straightened away with a satisfied smirk, just as the wind blew Buck back inside.  “Hoo-eee! Storm ain’t lettin’ up any out there.”  He shook the snow from himself and headed for the bedstead.

 

“Do remove the snow from your boots, Mister Wilmington,” Ezra said, lips pulled in a wry grin.  “There’s no need to track dampness all over this fine establishment.”

 

“Gonna be takin’ off my boots soon enough,” Buck replied.  “Don’t want my feet to be cold any longer ’n I haveta.”  He sat on the edge of the bed, pried off his boots, then took off his coat and gun belt.  With a shudder that Chris knew was only partly faked, he tucked himself under the blankets and arranged his still-damp coat on top.  He hooked his gun over the post of the bed nearest him.

 

“You’re next, Ezra.” Chris gave him a little shove toward the bed.

 

“I believe I will pass, Mister Larabee,” Ezra said, and Chris could see he’d tensed up again.  “I will be fine keeping watch…”

 

“Ezra,” Chris interrupted, his tone stern.  “You stay out here, you’ll freeze.  Get in the bed.”

 

Ezra sighed but toed off his boots to do as he was bid, and Chris realized the protest had only been for show, more for Buck’s benefit than anything else.  He shook his head as he hung his gun belt and Ezra’s around the bedpost.  Then, bootless and trying not to shiver, he slid in next to Ezra, draping his coat over the blankets as Buck had.  “Move over, my ass is hangin’ out.”

 

“I would,” Ezra retorted, squirming, “if I had any room myself.”

 

The bed slats groaned under their weight as they shifted, trying to get comfortable.  When they finally settled, heat started to collect around them – not the false warmth folks felt while freezing to death, but a warmth that was just enough to highlight how very cold it was.

 

After a little while, Buck stretched out to his full length on the bed before curling up again.  “You know what’d really make some warmth?”

 

“I wouldn’t dare hazard a guess, Mister Wilmington,” Ezra said, his tone dry.

 

“A couple o’ pretty gals, huddled up under these blankets with us.  That’d get the ol’ blood flowin’, now, wouldn’t it?”  Chris could just imagine Buck’s grin, so wide it was like to split his face.  He was glad the cabin was dark now, but still made sure that he was facing away, so that his own smile couldn’t be seen.

 

“There’s one small problem with your imagining, though, Mister Wilmington…”

 

When Ezra paused, Buck obligingly asked, “What’s that?”

 

“There isn’t sufficient space in this bed for the three of us, much less us and a couple of… _pretty gals_.”

 

Buck gave a shout of laughter that seemed very loud in the dark cabin.  “Well, hell, pard, that’s why it’d be warm!”

 

“Touché,” Ezra murmured, and Chris could hear his amusement clearly.

 

Silence descended after that, broken by the shuffling of the horses, the muted whistling of the wind and Buck’s occasional chuckles.  Eventually, even those died away, to be replaced by Buck’s snore.  Ezra’s breath deepened and slowed, and Chris let the familiar rhythm ease him into sleep.

 

“… wake up.  Chris.”

 

The whispered call of his name and the hand shaking his arm snapped Chris out of slumber.  “What?”

 

“Hush,” Ezra ordered, still whispering.  “I need you to please let me out.”

 

He passed a hand over his face, trying to wake up enough to understand.  The cabin was black as pitch, and the storm still raged outside.  “Why?”

 

Ezra paused for a moment, and when he spoke again, Chris could hear the smirk in his words.  “Because, to continue Mister Wilmington’s earlier conceit, no man may resist the call of Mother Nature…”

 

Chris snorted and hitched himself onto his back, lifting the blankets so Ezra could clamber over him, flipping them back down quickly to trap what little warm air remained.  “Hurry back.” 

 

He was drowsing again when he heard Ezra return, heralded by a sigh through chattering teeth.  “Now I must ask you to let me back in…”

 

Chris shuffled back, into the cold space Ezra had vacated, and let Ezra take the warmer spot where he had just lain.  As soon as Ezra was under the covers, Chris drew him close, shivering as Ezra’s chilled body came to rest against him.

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Ezra asked, even as he buried his nose against Chris’s throat.  His hand came to rest lightly on Chris’s hip.

 

“Buck won’t even know,” Chris assured him softly.  “He won’t wake up until we wake him up or someone starts poundin’ on the door, yellin’ about his wife.”

 

Ezra laughed, nothing more than a soundless rush of heated air against Chris’s collarbone, and he quivered again for an entirely different reason.  “Then perhaps we’ll be safe enough… after all, I don’t believe anyone would be out searching for his wife’s former paramour in this storm.”

 

“Sure hope not.” He tugged Ezra a little closer, his hand drifting down to the small of his back, and dropped off again.

 

The next time he woke, he wasn’t sure why at first.  Ezra slept against him, a warm comfortable weight in his arms.  It was still dark, though quieter now, as if the storm was winding down.

 

Behind him, he could feel a solid body, broad shoulders and back, and knew without even thinking that it was Buck.  He and Buck had done this often enough when they were on the trail on cold nights; slept back to back with both sets of blankets covering them, sharing body heat.  It wasn’t nothing to wake up and find himself with his back against Buck’s – hell, it was damn familiar.

 

Then Ezra shifted against him, making a soft sound deep in his throat, and Chris knew _exactly_ why he’d woken up.

 

While they’d been sleeping, Ezra had insinuated his leg between Chris’s, or maybe Chris had thrown his over Ezra’s.  He didn’t know which and he didn’t much care; just that now Ezra’s thigh pressed against his groin, like he was offering it for Chris to ride.  Chris felt his breath start to come a little faster as Ezra moved again because _oh, God,_ he could feel Ezra’s hard length against his hip, unmistakable even through all the layers between them.

 

“Ezra,” he whispered, helpless to do anything else.  He couldn’t move away; Buck was right behind him.  But he couldn’t push Ezra away, either; not only would it wake Buck when Ezra fell out of the bed, it’d be damn embarrassing for both of them, and then they’d be facing a long, cold ride back to town, made even colder knowing why they weren’t even speaking…

 

Add to that too many long days on the trail, too many nights knowing Ezra slept just across the fire, and while he knew without a doubt that this was a bad idea, Chris thought it was also starting to seem _necessary_.

 

 _One thing to do first, though_ , Chris thought, and took a deep breath.  “Ezra,” he said again, accompanying his soft call with a little shake, just as Ezra had done earlier.

 

Ezra woke between one tiny thrust against Chris’s hip and the next, going completely still, and Chris knew he was trying to figure out just what had happened.  “Chris?”

 

“Woke up this way,” Chris replied, trying to answer the questions he wasn’t asking.  Ezra trembled against him with the effort of not moving, and just that small motion made Chris _want_ even more.  He bit his lip, riding out the urge to work himself against Ezra’s thigh, then, voice gravelly, managed, “You don’t wanna finish this, best you turn away right now.”

 

For a long moment, Ezra said nothing, and in the darkness, Chris couldn’t even tell what expression he wore, or whether the quiet, damp sound of him licking his lips was consideration of the idea or trying to figure out an escape…

 

Then Ezra pressed closer, his leg settling more firmly between Chris’s own, hand sliding back from his hip to curve tightly around his ass.  “This,” Ezra whispered, rocking his hips slightly, “has to be the most foolish of foolish ideas…”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Chris replied in the same tone.  “Just don’t much care right now.”  He grabbed a fistful of Ezra’s shirt and tugged it from his trousers, then let his fingers trail over the soft skin of Ezra’s back, dipping down under the back of his waistband to brush teasingly over the fabric of his drawers.

 

They moved as little as they could bear, dreading each creak of the bed and groan of the slats, listening every moment for Buck to wake up and demand to know what the hell they were doing.  But the constraint, the risk was a powerful thing, and before long they were panting into each other’s mouths, unbearably hot now under the blankets, as if there was a wildfire there with them.

 

Ezra stroked the front of Chris’s pants, and Chris nearly choked on the sound that tried to make its way out of his throat.  Then those clever fingers were unbuttoning his fly, sneaking in, only to encounter the rough material of Chris’s Union suit.

 

“Too many damn layers,” Ezra muttered against his throat, and started searching for the nearest buttons.

 

Chris had to bite down on a laugh.  _Ain’t that always_ my _complaint when I’m tryin’ to get him outta_ his _clothes?_   He fumbled against Ezra’s fly, partly in desire-fueled clumsiness, but mostly to feel Ezra tremble and mutter curses as he brushed against his sex.

 

Then Ezra’s hand worked into his Union suit, curving around the urgent length of his cock through his drawers, _so good._   Chris let out a breath that was almost a groan, thrusting up against that near-perfect grip.

 

Everything was heat now – sweat springing up on his body, on Ezra’s, salt-tang on his tongue when he swiped it across Ezra’s lip, the hot wetness of Ezra’s mouth and the tangle of their tongues, kisses sloppy and breathless, and most of all, _God,_ the heat of Ezra’s hand on his sex, Ezra’s branding his hand even through the thin barrier of his drawers, stroking hard and fast and each moment coming closer and closer…

 

Then Ezra jerked against him, mouth open against his neck, silent and shuddering through his climax. Under Chris’s hand, his cock did the same, his seed seeping through the thin material.

 

Feeling Ezra’s prick leap and tremble under his fingers sent Chris tumbling over the edge with a soft grunt that wouldn’t be denied.  He panted into Ezra’s sweat-damp hair, drawing in the scent of him as the waves of pleasure slowly receded.

 

“Hot,” Ezra murmured.  Chris could feel his eyelashes fluttering against his throat.

 

“Yeah.”  Instead of kicking off the blankets – even if they didn’t freeze to death from the sweat cooling their bodies, they’d catch one hell of a cold – he flipped one of them back, just enough to let in a short burst of the chilly cabin air.  He didn’t let Ezra wriggle away, though he did move his slightly-sticky hand from the front of Ezra’s drawers to his hip.  “Better?”

 

“Mmm.”  When he said nothing more, Chris thought he’d fallen asleep.   Then he added, accent thick and drowsy, “Be a mess come mornin’.”

 

Chris laughed, a low rusty chuckle.  “Prob’ly.”  Fatigue dragged his eyelids down, but he stayed stubbornly awake, waiting, even as Ezra’s breath slowed and deepened.  The night was still, the storm blown out.

 

Buck’s snore continued uninterrupted for long minutes, and finally Chris decided that they hadn’t woken him up.  With a sigh of relief, he let his eyes close and gave in to the call of sleep.

 

Just as slumber claimed him, Buck rolled over behind him, and he thought he heard Buck mutter, “Be quiet, hoss, ‘m tryin’ ta sleep.”

 

Whatever that meant, Chris decided it could wait until morning.

 

***

July 31, 2011


End file.
